The letters Qian Shanyi left at the post office remained untouched until the following morning, when a postrunner came to make new deliveries. Even the spirit hunter coming over to investigate Qian Shanyi’s whereabouts did not ask to see them: with no solid proof that a crime has been committed, opening the mail of another cultivator would be a serious transgression.
The post office sorted the letters into different cupboards, grouped together based on how far away their destination was from Xiaohongshan, as well as wherever they would be headed upstream or downstream. Most were addressed to the few nearby cities, each having a dedicated cupboard, but an occasional one would be sent off to provinces on the other end of the empire, where the letters could be redirected by postmasters closer to their eventual destinations.
The postrunner that came to Xiaohongshan in the morning didn’t even look at the pair of letters while scooping them up alongside hundreds of others into specialized leather bags, each one corresponding to a single cupboard, and headed off back to the docks to catch a ship downstream. From that moment, they were lost as thoroughly as a card shuffled into a deck by a magician’s hand.
For two days the pair of letters remained safely in the bag, until they reached a town at the confluence of the river and were handed off to a new postmaster, and from them, to a new postrunner. Neither of them asked where this pair of letters came from or who wrote them: as far as they were concerned, these anonymous letters were no more deserving of individual attention than coins at the market.
Passing from one hand to another, from a cupboard into a bag and back into a cupboard, the letters traveled through the invisible pathways of the imperial post, steered just as inexorably towards their destination as water flowed downhill. Eight days later, they finally arrived in the Golden Rabbit Bay, where they were sorted by district, and finally dropped off in the hands of their recipients on the same day, appearing as if a lightning strike straight from the heavens.
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“You went through my mail?” Zhao Lieyan, known as Elder Striding Phoenix, glanced over a letter that his colleague and a long-time friend had thrust in his face, raising an eyebrow. He had read it several times when it first came in, so he recognised the writing on sight.
They were sitting at his desk in his study, a small kettle of tea set between them. The atmosphere had been friendly on this pleasant summer morning, and even this confrontation didn’t soil it much.
“Outer disciple assigned to sort mail for you had reported it. That’s not the point, Lieyan,” Fang Caoyuan, Elder Four Strangling Weeds sneered, “Your disciple has run away from the sect!”
Fang Caoyuan was a man well into the years, and the alchemical dusts and fumes he worked with were not kind to his body. His hair - both on his head and in his beard - was patchy and tinted in strange colors, a rare sight for a cultivator, having partly fallen out long before he reached the building foundation stage. Despite the unkind appearance, he was one of the best alchemists of their sect.
“I think you will find she had carefully avoided using those terms,” Zhao Lieyan smiled. His disciple’s skill with words was the reason why he always offloaded letter work on her shoulders, and her replacement was barely keeping up. As well as snitching on him, apparently.
“I’ve read the words she used, and I do not think this slap in the face is a laughing matter. But the fact remains no matter what she wrote,” Fang Caoyuan folded the letter back up and tossed it down on his desk, “you should have reported this to the other Elders.”
“What I do with my disciples is my own business.”
“It is the sect’s business!” Fang Caoyuan curled his upper lip, cradling his tea cup in his hands, “We train her, waste pills and herbs on her growth, and this is how she repays us? By spitting in our face?”
“It is just a youthful fling,” he sighed, “She will run around, smell the flowers, and soon enough she will be back to us.”
“How confident of you.”
“What else will she do? Be a loose cultivator?” He shook his head, “I know my disciple, her ambition couldn’t stomach that sort of life. Besides, what do you want me to do about it?”
“Send the hunters after her.”
“The empire?” Zhao Lieyan snorted, “The empire wouldn’t lift a finger unless we could say exactly where she is right now. You know as well as I do that their unofficial stance is that runaway cultivators should be left alone - the weaker the sects, the better for them. They are certainly not going to declare a manhunt on her. And how do you want us to find her?”
He picked up the letter and gestured with it.
“No return address, no details of where she is, nothing. The empire does not record where the post came from, so it might as well have been delivered by a Deva straight from the Heavens. Did you find something I didn’t? Is the paper made out of reeds that only grow around a single city?”
“I don’t mean an imperial one,” Fang Caoyuan smugly noted, “A distant relative of mine is a retired spirit hunter. He lives in the city, and I have been told that he still finds things for his clients.”
“A private spirit hunter?” Zhao Leiyan raised his eyebrows, “Do you think the walls of our sect are made out of spirit stones?”
“We would only pay if they find the mark. Now what do you say?”
“Sure,” he shrugged, “If it will make you and the other Elders feel better. You realize that if you drag her back by the hair, she would resent the sect for the rest of her life?”
“If she didn’t want this, she shouldn’t have run away,” Fang Caoyuan sneered, getting up and heading towards the doors.
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Rays of the sun streamed in through the shutters of a cramped, narrow room, making dust in the air light up like little stars. The walls were covered in cupboards, full of case files, books and unlabeled bottles of colorful liquids.
Fang Caoyuan saw his quarry as soon as he walked in: a small, unkempt man with messy black hair, his back turned towards the door as he lounged in a chair behind a desk at the end of the room, his feet resting against the shuttered window. He was wearing baggy, leather clothes - like a strange middle child of robes and a cloak, nothing like the usual robes of the spirit hunters - dyed dark brown, making him blend in with the furniture. In his hands, he held a glass, and even from the doors Fang Caoyuan could smell the overwhelming stench of liquor.
If he couldn’t sense the spiritual energy flowing like a smooth stream into his body, he would have immediately dismissed the man as a hobo, not a cultivator in the building foundation stage.
“A dame walked in through the doors, carrying the scent of disaster on her heels,” Fang Jiugui drawled, not looking over at him, “But was it her own to bring, or hers to cause?”
Fang Caoyuan paused in the doors.
Is he talking about me? I am a man!
“Fellow cultivator Fang Jiugui,” he opened his mouth, pushing down his irritation at the blatant disrespect. Even if the man was retired, he was still a spirit hunter. He didn’t want to start a conflict, “I am Fang Caoyuan, of the Luminous Lotus Pavilion. Your services have been recommended by the family.”
The other man finally turned his chair around to face him.
“So what did you bring me on this dark, stormy day?”
Fang Caoyuan glanced at the clear sunlight streaming in between the window shutters while he approached the desk, and Fang Jiugui pursed his lips.
“The storm is metaphorical,” he grumbled, “What do you have for me?”
Fang Caoyuan reached into his robes and took out three letters - a recommendation from the relative who worked with Fang Jiugui before, a detailed description of the case, and the one that Qian Shanyi sent to the sect. He only wished his relatives told him how the man would behave before he met him. Fang Jiugui put all of the letters side by side on his desk and read them carefully, before glancing back up at Fang Caoyuan.
“We need the runaway found,” he said, “the sect will pay handsomely, of course.”
“But will I have to pay in blood or sweat to make the catch?” Fang Jiugui wondered, taking a swig of his drink. Fang Caoyuan’s sense of scent, honed to perfection from his delicate alchemical work, protested at being made to smell the vile concoction, and he discretely held his breath. If the man wanted to drink poison, couldn’t he at least open the window?
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
“I’ll take the case,” Fang Jiugui said, “You already know my rates?”
Fang Caoyuan nodded, not wanting to spend more time than absolutely necessary with the man, and quickly excused himself. Cultivators tended to be eccentric people, and only got more so with age - as long as his skills were good, it wasn’t a good reason to reject cooperation.
But next time, he would send his disciples to do the talking.
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When Fang Caoyuan left, Fang Jiugui put the three letters into a pocket of his robes, grabbed his wide bamboo hat, locked up his bureau, and set off into the city. The first step in any investigation was to make sure his own employers didn’t lie to him.
The recommendation letter he was given let him enter the sect, where he questioned several disciples, and was even allowed into Qian Shanyi’s room to see if he could find something. There wasn’t much - clothing, some medical supplies, notes on her personal cultivation, her sect duties, and a couple books. He took the notes to reference later: the handwriting seemed to match her letter, at the very least.
He checked with the Northern Sky Salmon: it was the last place anyone has seen Qian Shanyi on the night of those demonic cultivator attacks, and the sect told him as much. What they didn’t mention was that she was last seen having a public fight with another cultivator, and later on, both of them vanished together. Perhaps they themselves were not made aware of it - proprietor of the Northern Sky Salmon was quite embarrassed about the whole event, and asked him to keep the rumors down if at all possible.
Checking in with the imperial offices, he found out that they haven’t investigated the fight either - after that day’s tragic events, a minor scuffle between two refinement stage cultivators fell by the wayside. He did find out the name of the man - one Wang Yonghao, a loose cultivator, seemingly with no prior connections to Qian Shanyi. He wasn’t sure what to make of them vanishing together - a kidnapping? Two secret lovers staging a scene to run away?
The last step on his trip was a small store near the docks.
“Qian’s General Trading Goods” was the middle man between the small traveling merchants that would come to the Golden Rabbit Bay from all across the empire and the locals. It traded in pretty much everything there was to be traded - silks and fabrics, spices, metals, tools, and even an occasional spiritual salve or pill. Largest merchants would of course sell their goods directly to their customers, operating their own warehouses and distribution networks, but for those without the money or connections to do so, and for those not willing to spend the time to sell their goods in person, Qian Yang’s shop was their stop of choice.
The sign over the door was painted with an image of a bald, cheerful man carrying a large sack bursting with goods, and the door jingled as Fang Jiugui entered the store. Eponymous Qian, looking much like the sign, was chatting with another customer behind the counter. He waited until they were done, and approached him in turn.
“Mister Qian?” he asked, watching the man’s face carefully as he showed him his hunting seal, a complex carving of wood and stone, glistening slightly when he pushed his spiritual energy into it, “Fang Jiugui, a spirit hunter. Fates have put me on the tail of your daughter, and her scent led me to you.”
Qian Yang’s eyes opened in surprise, and he bowed respectfully.
“Honorable immortal Fang, it’s a pleasure to host you in my humble store! Unfortunately, my daughter no longer lives with us. You should ask in the Luminous Lotus Pavilion - they would know where to find her.”
“Her sect seeks, for it does not already know,” he chuckled, “it seems your daughter is a bit of a runaway. Has she, perhaps, whispered something to the winds, sent a little missive with a bird?”
The shopkeeper stared at him, taking a moment to parse what was said. His manner of speech tended to unnerve people, and he usually didn’t see the need to push the instincts down. He gave the man time - he was in no hurry.
“I can’t say that I have received any messages from her, no,” the shopkeeper shook his head, “But if any come in the future, I will be sure to tell the sect.”
“Hm. Yet what if the little bird stepped into a spot of danger herself? A shade of kidnapping, perhaps?”
“Kidnapping?” Qian Yang said, his eyes growing wide, and used a handkerchief to wipe away sweat from his forehead, “Mercy to the heavenbreakers, who would do such a thing to her?”
The inflection, the tone, the movement… It was perfect. A bit too perfect, in fact, like a rehearsed speech rather than a natural reaction. It was very subtle, but this man was not truly worried about his daughter - which raised a question of why.
“A spot of kidnapping, yet who knows the truth?” Fang Jiugui shook his head, studying the man’s expression, “Perhaps she is the one doing the deed instead.”
That was a mistake. The man scowled, and a vein popped up on his forehead as he balled his fists together.
“My Shanyi,” Qian Yang hissed, “Is the best damn cultivator in the entire Empire! You say she kidnapped someone? That’s a dirty lie, and if you want my help catching her so you can blame her for it, you will have none of it. I’d sooner go to the gallows in her place!”
Fang Jiugui could see that he was being honest, too. There was no point in threatening this man, or trying to bribe him.
Instead, he raised his hands in a placating gesture.
“It seems my talk upset you, honorable storekeeper Qian,” he said, “Excuse this weary cultivator for my riddles. In truth, none know what happened - only that two birds have vanished, and one is from your house. And be they foes or lovers, who can say? Only you may know a hint or whisper.”
“I don’t have anything to tell you.”
“Does your soul not even shake with worry, too weary of this stormy world?”
“Of course I am worried. But she is a big girl.”
“You trust her, I see.”
“She always knows what she is doing. If she ran away from the sect, then she was sure it was the right decision.”
“I see,” Fang Jiugui scratched his head below his hat, “To tell you the truth, I think the bird has sent a word to you, and you don’t want my eyes on it lest it lock me on her tail.”
“Like I said, I don’t have anything to tell you.”
“Is what you speak truth, or is it lies?” he scratched his head, “Many say I speak in riddles, but are you quite so different? But say I leave with nothing - then I would make my path back to ones who write my checks, and tell them my hands are empty. I would speak of what I did, and I would speak of you - and perhaps they will forgive you, but for a sect to come to me, ready to pay my rates, their rage must already burn quite bright. Perhaps they step into your home, and perhaps they break your knees - all against the Empire’s law, of course, but many do so anyways. You might end up a worm, impaled on a hook to catch a larger fish - or a bird that flew away from its cage. Would your daughter stay away, or come rushing back to help you, if she heard what happened?”
Fang Jiugui shrugged theatrically.
“My pay is strict, I will get nothing in return. And I am no sect - Empire would squish me like a bug if I laid a hand on you. I am simply on the tail of your bird, and I see these things to the end. But is there a safer way out for her than for you to give me a hand?”
He saw that he still needed a little push.
“Is your dame quite so dumb as to write down the steps I need to reach her grave?”
Qian Yang paused, then shook his head slowly.
“No. No, she would have thought the mail might get intercepted.”
He sighed, and went into the backroom, returning with a letter. He handed it over to Fang Jiugui.
“I hope this isn’t a mistake.”
Fang Jiugui smiled, and quickly ran his eyes over the letter. It was longer than the one she sent to the sect - talking a bit of her good health, an opportunity to improve her cultivation, and of having found a “promising ally”, and saying she would write more when the situation cleared up - but it was all still frustratingly vague. She talked a lot about the wilderness though - perhaps that was a clue? A vague one if so - wild forests could be found all over the empire.
“Well, hunter, did I betray my daughter?“
“There is nothing here,” he shook his head, handing the letter back, “The sect won’t hear your name from my lips, shopkeeper.”
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Having investigated the city as much as possible and not found any easy paths forwards, it was time to resort to expensive methods.
He returned to his bureau, and laid the letter down in a metal tray, taking out one of the many unlabeled bottles from his shelves and spraying the liquid within onto the paper. He waited for the alchemical substance to be absorbed, then locked the paper in between a pair of steel sheets, and heated it over a candle. Once the letter popped out, it was covered in purple fingerprints, standing out against the yellow paper.
This substance was something from back in his days as an imperial spirit hunter, and he avoided using it as much as he could - getting his hands on more would be a pain and a half. The empire kept the recipe quite secret, as well as what it was actually used for - if all cultivators learned how easily they could leave evidence behind, they would lose one of their best tracking tools. After all, not many people knew that fingerprints tended to be unique.
He repeated the process with her cultivation notes, and started making a mental list of the fingerprints. One set was from Qian Shanyi herself, and one he recognised as that of the local postmaster, but the other ones escaped him for now. He folded the letter to use for reference later, gathered his things, and set off for the post office.
There were about a dozen postrunners bringing express mail - that of cultivators, as well as civilians who were willing to pay more than usual - into the Golden Rabbit Bay. Each of them would generally work a single path between distant cities, shuttling mail over it from one end to the other and only rarely moving on to a different one. Fang Jiugui camped out at the post office each morning, and over the next several days, interviewed all of them that had been in town on the day the letter was delivered. He asked them which path they tended to travel, as well as if they have seen Qian Shanyi - her description was conveniently given to him by the sect - not really caring about their answers. All that he really needed to do was throw a single covert glance at their fingers to check their fingerprints and see if they were among the ones on the letter.
Two days into it, he finally found his mark, and after thanking them for the trouble, set off upstream, tracing their path back and interviewing postmasters along the way. Once he found someone who had touched the letter - and thus a place where the letter had changed hands - he repeated his series of interviews until he knew of a new direction to head in.
One by one, the fingerprints on the letter found their owners as he followed the river upstream. Soon enough, he was down to one unknown set, as he entered the postal office in a small, frontier town of Xiaohongshan. A middle-aged lady with a gray hair bun was seated behind the counter, reading a book to pass the time.
“A darkened day brings me here, your ladyship, one of fire and drama”, he drawled, tipping his hat to the postmaster, “I am looking for one Qian Shanyi. Did she pass through here?”